


Serendipity

by Robottko



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Nerd!Sherlock, Teenlock, Unilock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 16:01:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3140267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robottko/pseuds/Robottko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It may be a little cliche to have a crush on the rugby captain, but even Sherlock Holmes can be a little cliche now and then.</p>
<p>Based on <a href="http://ilovemyjawn.tumblr.com/post/107059727214/teatective-sherlock-is-a-quiet-nerd-who-pines">this</a> tumblr prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serendipity

**Author's Note:**

> Translation into français available: [Serendipity](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3964342), Translated by [BreathOfDream](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BreathOfDream/pseuds/BreathOfDream)

"I'm going to fail," A voice groaned from two stacks over, cutting through the silence of the library like a sharp knife. The person sounded miserable, and Sherlock frowned as he looked for the source of the voice, trying to understand why it sounded so familiar. "God, I can't  _understand_  this." 

Sherlock jumped as he heard a thud _. (Head banging against table. Absolutely childish)_  He stood, making his way over to the commotion, not bothering to hide the annoyance he felt.

"If you don't mind, some of us are trying to work," Sherlock snapped, glaring down at the blond head that was resting on the table. "You're making quite a racket, and I-  _oh!_ "

The boy turned, and Sherlock felt his heart stop as he realised that it was  _John Watson,_ rugby captain, Mr popular, and current occupant of Sherlock's every thought who was staring up at him, looking absolutely miserable. 

"Christ, sorry." John replied, rubbing at his forehead. "I just...chemistry is  _killing_  me, and I-"

"If you need assistance, I would be more than happy to help," Sherlock cut him off quickly, hoping that he was pulling off his normal aloof expression and not the dopey eyed look he got when John happened to pass by him in the corridors. 

"I...you want to help me?" John frowned, "But you've got to be two years younger than me."

Sherlock tugged at his sleeveless jumper, feeling self-conscious. John had several inches on him while they were standing up, and jumpers of any kind only served to make him appear younger than he was.

"I'm only in the class behind you." Sherlock replied faux-haughtily. "And I'm several years ahead of you in chemistry. It's my best subject, and no one is more qualified to help you with it than I am."

"More so than the teachers?" John asked, his eyebrow quirking with mischief, causing his stomach to do a rather interesting flip.

"Of course." Sherlock replied, sitting down next to John, feeling absolutely tiny next to him. He ran a hand through his closely cropped hair nervously. "I am the smartest kid in this school."

"I thought Sherlock Holmes was the smartest kid in this school." John retorted.

"I am Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock replied, burying his head in one of his books to hide his flush. John had  _heard_  about him. Oh, that couldn't be good. "So the statement still stands."

"Wait... _you're_  Sherlock Holmes?!" John sat up, looking excited. "Christ, but the way my rugby mates were talking about you, you seemed so scary."

"It's not my fault that your friends find knowledge terrifying." Sherlock sniffed.

John burst out laughing, patting Sherlock on the shoulder, who flushed and tried desperately not to lean into the touch.

"Is it true?" John asked after he had calmed down. "That thing you can do, where you look at someone and know everything about them?"

_Oh well, it was nice knowing you._  Sherlock sucked in a breath, allowing himself a bit of ogling disguised as observing before beginning his deductions. John would hate him after this, and he wouldn't get the luxury of observing him anymore.

"The way you hold yourself suggests that you are thinking about going into the military. When you are thinking about it, you keep your posture military-rigid, though you quickly relax when your attention is other places. Your books in your nap sack tell me that you're going to train to be a doctor, and to pay for schooling with the military. You don't come from an affluent background, suggested by your hand-me-down nap sack from your brother, and slightly used clothes- not that they don't look good on you- so that only confirms my army doctor hypothesis. You like rugby, but you don't love it. Your father wants you to be in it, however, so you work your hardest to make him proud. You don't make friends easily. That's not to say that you aren't popular, but it takes a lot for you to trust someone, so those that consider themselves to be your friends actually aren't." 

Sherlock sucked in a breath, his words faltering at the look on John's face. Instead of anger or disgust, he saw something akin to awe.

"That was amazing," John said, a brilliant smile on his face. 

"It was?" Sherlock was dumbfounded. 

"Of course it was. It was brilliant, absolutely brilliant."

"That's not what people normally say," Sherlock admitted, burying his face in a book to hide his reddening face.

"What do people normally say?" John asked in curiosity.

"Piss off," Sherlock replied dryly. 

John snorted, grabbing his chemistry book and pulling it on his lap. "I really could use help with this."

"That's what I'm here for," Sherlock said, shuffling over so that he could see the book better.

"Hey, do my clothes really look that good on me?" John teased, smirking at the persistent blush on Sherlock's cheeks.

"Oh, shut up."

 

* * *

 

How John managed to convince him to go to his rugby match, Sherlock would never know. He had been tutoring John in chemistry for several months now, and was pleasantly surprised to discover that he was an excellent student, as well as a good friend.

_Dangerous territory,_ he thought.  _Better stick with acquaintances. John would hardly consider_ you _to be his friend._

Rain poured over the rugby field, soaking those that hadn't been intelligent to bring an umbrella. Or steal one from his brother, in Sherlock's case.

The crowd gave a huge cheer as John did something impressive with the ball, and Sherlock clapped feebly along, unsure of what exactly was happening.

Not that it mattered. Even if Sherlock did follow sports, he would be too distracted by a drenched John running around to be able to pay proper attention.

The game came to an end, though it took Sherlock several minutes to realise it. Judging by the smiles on John and his rugby team, they won. 

_Acquaintances would go and congratulate the other, wouldn't they?_

Sherlock made his way towards the team, feeling more awkward than ever. The rain had abated, thankfully, and Sherlock folded it down, clutching it at his side.

John turned just then, his eyes going wide when they landed on Sherlock. He smiled brighter than when they had won, and Sherlock’s stomach flipped in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

“You came!” John said as he broke away from his celebrating team. He looked as though he had just climbed out of a swimming pool. His rugby jersey clung to his defined chest in a way that made Sherlock feel hot all over.

_Perhaps I’m coming down with something._

“You look surprised. You did invite me, after all,” Sherlock replied.

“Yeah, and I’ve invited you to the earlier ones too, and you never came to those.” John rolled his eyes.

“Just because you didn’t see me doesn’t mean I didn’t come,” Sherlock said, looking up at the taller boy. Sherlock had grown quite a bit in the months that he had been tutoring John, and now he was only a few inches shorter than the older boy.

“You came to those too?” John looked thrilled, his smile bigger than when they had won. “I thought you hated sports.”

“I do,” Sherlock admitted.

“And you came anyway?” There was a softness to John’s gaze that Sherlock couldn’t explain.

“Of course, that’s what friends do, isn’t it?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he looked at John in panic, worried that he had made a mistake.

“Yeah, that’s what friends do,” John replied. One of his rugby teammates called his name, and John turned around to give them a half-hearted wave before turning back. “Listen, I’m going to go hit the showers. I’ll be back out soon, if you want to wait?”

Sherlock nodded once, watching the rugby team walk off the field, still patting each other’s backs. The field slowly emptied out, parents leaving with their children, rugby players with their friends, and soon Sherlock was alone, wondering where John had gotten off to.

He made his way towards the locker rooms, and he almost went in when he heard voices. They were coming from just around the corner, and they weren’t bothering to be quiet.

“You were fantastic today, John,” A female voice said brightly.

“Ta. Yeah, my team worked hard, didn’t they? Listen I gotta-”

“No, _you_ were fantastic.” The voice cut him off.

“Sarah…”

“Hush. Come on, let’s go out for a bite to eat. Just you and me.”

“I really gotta-”

John was cut off again, but this time it wasn’t with words, but something that sounded very passionate, and slightly wet. Sherlock took a step back, feeling the blood drain from his face.

“Fine. Dinner.”

“Great!” Sarah practically sang, and Sherlock listened as they walked off together. He pictured them walking along, arm in arm, both smiling brightly. He imagined John sitting at a booth, flashing Sarah those wonderful smiles that Sherlock sometimes pretended were only for him.

He never felt so alone.

 

* * *

 

"What do you mean, you're going to France for the summer?" John frowned at Sherlock, who sat across from him in their normal seats in the library. It was the day before summer break, and Sherlock was itching to leave the school, even if it meant he wouldn't get to see John.

"Every summer, my family visits  _grand-mère_  near Cahors, France. I thought I mentioned it?"

"By complaining that you'll be stuck with Mycroft all summer?" John snorted. "That doesn't count. Can I call you, if I can't see you?"

" _Grand-mère_ is terribly old fashioned. At most, I'll only be able to text you." Sherlock looked up and John, confused as to why he was so put out. "It's not as if your summer will be dull. You can talk with that Sarah girl."

"Sarah and I broke up  _months_  ago." John looked amused. "You're thinking of my latest ex-girlfriend, Jeanette."

"Ah, yes," Sherlock nodded knowledgeably. "Jeanette, you can- what do you mean, latest ex?"

"We broke up last week. I told you all about it."

"When you said her name, I tuned it out," Sherlock admitted.

"Of course you did." John huffed, "You had better text me, then."

"I have no friends in France, John, of course I'll text you." Sherlock ran a hand through his hair, which was beginning to get too long. It was probably time for another haircut.

"You should let your hair grow out," John commented, watching him. "You'd look good with curls. The women would love it."

"Women aren't exactly my area," Sherlock replied absentmindedly, wincing as his voice cracked on 'area".

"Oh? Oh!" John flushed, his eyes widening with realisation. "Christ, we've been friends for months and I never...I mean, the boys will really like your curls."

Sherlock flushed at that, looking down at the book in his lap. "We'll see. Mummy loves it when I keep my hair long as well, so you'll probably get your wish."

It was then that his mobile chirped. Sherlock fished his phone out of his pocket, glaring at the message from Mycroft.

"My ride is here." Sherlock sighed, pocketing the phone once more. 

"Christ, already?" John frowned. "Well....I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Yeah." Sherlock stood, and John mimicked him. They were nearly the same height now, something Sherlock constantly pointed out to John.

"Hey, maybe you'll be the same height as me when you get back." John teased with a wink. 

"We'll see. I think I'll be taller." Sherlock grinned at him. 

With a quick pat on the back, Sherlock was out the door, his stomach twisting in longing already.

_'Maybe I'll be able to get over my silly crush this summer.'_ Sherlock thought to himself. _'Distance could be a good thing.'_

Ha, yeah right. 

 

* * *

 

John stood outside the school, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for Sherlock to arrive. They had texted over the summer, and John missed his little friend more than words could say. 

"John!" A female voice called, and he turned to see Mary Morstan waving at him. 

"Hey there, Mary," John greeted.

"What are you doing outside?" Mary asked. "Waiting for your girlfriend?"

"Ha, bloody ha." John snorted. "I don't have a girlfriend."

"Still?" A deep voice said behind him, causing John to involuntarily shiver. "I would have thought you would have been in several relationships since Jeanette."

John turned to find the source of the voice, and swallowed thickly when he saw him. The man was six feet of gorgeous, lean muscles, dark curls, and mischievous smiles. 

"Do I know you?" John asked, unable to keep the flirtation out of his voice.

“Of course you do.” The man looked confused, and he cocked his head to one side, accidently exposing a long column of neck…

“I think I would remember you,” John replied, giving him an easy smile.

The man flushed a bright red, looking embarrassed. He blinked several times as if trying to regain his thoughts, those eyes of his looking ever so familiar…

“Wait…Sherlock?!” John practically choked.

“Of course it’s me!” Sherlock replied, his deep voice making his flustered state unbelievably sexy. “Who did you think I was?!”

“I dunno!” John panicked slightly. “A new kid? You just…”

“Were you _flirting_ with me?” Sherlock looked down at him, clearly in shock now.

“I…oh god. Yes.” John buried his face in his hands. “Sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Sherlock asked. “Unless…were you embarrassed it was _me_ that you were flirting with?”

“No. God no.” John sighed, unable to look at Sherlock now. “I’m embarrassed cause…well, first of all, you are _way_ out of my league. Second of all, you don’t _do_ relationships.”

“Lord, are you two really that stupid?” A voice jarred John out of his embarrassed thoughts. He turned to see Mary there, rolling her eyes and grinning.

“I am hardly stupid.” A phrase so familiar to John in a voice that sinful was almost too much. He shivered again, something that Mary noticed easily.

“Sherlock has been crushing out on you from day one, don’t deny it.” Mary replied, holding up a finger to silence Sherlock. “I saw the way you would watch him during rugby last year.”

“Wait…really?” John turned to look at Sherlock, whose cheeks were once again a nice shade of red. “You had a crush on me.”

“Of course I did. Everyone did.” It was Sherlock’s turn to avoid eye contact, and he had it mastered. “It just…got worse when I got to know you.”

“And John, don’t pretend you didn’t start crushing on Sherlock back.” Mary raised an eyebrow.

“But he was dating people.” Sherlock frowned at her.

“So? He still liked you.” Mary clucked her tongue. “Ah well, I was hoping I would get to date John before you realised you two were meant to be together.”

John laughed, shaking his head. “Well, I didn’t count on Sherlock coming back from France looking like sex on two legs.”

“I…what?” Sherlock looked down at himself, as if to figure out what John was talking about. “I may have grown a few inches…”

“You’re a head taller than me.” John chuckled. “I like what you’ve done with your hair, by the way.”

“I grew it out for you. Mycroft said it looks like a bird’s nest.”

“Mycroft is an idiot.” John replied. “Now shut up and kiss me, because I’ve been missing you all summer, and that’s the only way you can make it up to me.”

Sherlock obliged.


End file.
